Kissing Booth
by Rouge Winter
Summary: The Homicide department's contribution to the Met's fundraiser fair for the local charity is a kissing booth. Mystrade, slash.


**Title: **Kissing Booth**  
>Rating: <strong>PG-13**  
>Series; Pairing: <strong>Sherlock BBC; Mycroft/Lestrade**  
>Disclaimer:<strong> Unfortunately, I don't own this absolutely wonderful series.**  
>Warnings: <strong>None, other than two men kissing and some coarse language**  
>Word Count: <strong>2,835**  
>Summary: <strong>The Homicide department's contribution to the Met's fundraiser fair for the local charity is a kissing booth.**  
>Notes:<strong>  
>1. Many thanks to <strong>alphera<strong> for reading through this and being absolutely thorough. **novadiab1o** also deserves many thanks for beta reading and Brit-Picking like a BOSS. Any mistakes left behind are all mine.  
>2. I'm not sure if the Met has fundraising carnivals. And if they did, I'm pretty sure a kissing booth isn't going to be one of the attractions. But for the sake of Mystrade, let's assume there is.<br>3. This came to me when I was walking home the other day and saw a kissing booth design on the back of a woman's shirt. I needed to get this out of my system in time for the MYSTRADE FANWORKS FEST. Go check it out at mystradefanfest[.]livejournal[.]com if you haven't yet. Oh god. I am too excited for words!

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><p>"A kissing booth?" Lestrade asked in disbelief.<p>

"Yeah." Sergeant Donovan said with a nod. She had come into the Detective Inspector's office to drop off some files along with the latest office gossip. "Our department's contribution to the Met's fundraising fair for the local charity next weekend."

"A _kissing_ booth?"

"A little odd, if you ask me: Homicide Department setting up a kissing booth." Sally continued, not paying any attention the mixed look of confusion and distress on her boss's face as she shuffled a few files around, putting those that required Lestrade's immediate attention at the top. "But apparently Forensics submitted their request before we did so they got first dibs on the horror house." Her face scrunched up at the thought of being cheated out of the chance to scare people.

"The only good thing about this though," Sally continued as she flipped to the form that needed Lestrade's signature. "Is that not all of us need to man the booth at all hours of the weekend. We can take alternate shifts, so we can have fun at the fair too. Not like the horror booth where it's practically a full man operation. Sign here please." She said, tapping a space on the current page to bring Lestrade's attention there.

"A _**kissing**_ booth?"

Sally sighed. It seemed like the Detective Inspector wasn't going to be very useful this morning, what with the way he was still looking a little shell-shocked. She belatedly realized she should have asked Lestrade to sign the forms _before _dropping that little tidbit.

"I'll come back for those later."

Slowly shutting the door to the office, Sally decided to pay Anderson a visit, figuring she could afford an hour or so away from her desk before Lestrade noticed she was missing.

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><p>Despite Lestrade's protests to get out of manning the booth ('Are you sure <em>I<em> have to take a shift?', 'Who would want to kiss _me_?', 'I'm too old for this.', 'Isn't this some form of solicitation?', 'How is this family-friendly?', 'Is this even hygienic? Has anyone checked if we're covered for any diseases we contract from this?', 'Come on Sally, I'll pay you to take my shift. Fifty pounds? A hundred? I'm _begging _here.'), he still found himself strapped with the required two hour shift that weekend. In his defence, he couldn't in good conscience simply back out, not when it's for a good cause, not when he was outvoted by the entire department when they were voting for the best looking candidates to take these shifts (Lestrade still thinks they were taking the piss out of him), and especially not when he was expected to set a good example to his fellow officers.

Being a good sport and trying to show the fortitude expected of a man who has dealt with his fair share of unsavoury criminals, Lestrade arrived at the festival grounds on Saturday. He was feeling more than a little apprehensive as he made his way through the throngs of people, not certain if he was more worried at the prospect of having to kiss strangers for money or that there might not be any strangers who would willingly pay to kiss him.

The booth wasn't hard to miss given the way it was decorated. It was painted pink with large set of red-coloured lips as the centerpiece of the wide bottom-half of the stand, hearts of various shades and sizes littering the sides, and adorning the top was a big, bold sign that read: 'Kissing Booth' which could be seen from the grounds' parking lot. It was taunting him, Lestrade was sure, but he steeled himself with the thought that the sooner he accepted his fate, the sooner he could get it over and done with.

Taking a deep breath, Lestrade walked around the side, past the two midsized lines of people (which did nothing to help settle his nerves) to reach his fellow officers behind the booth.

"Finally!" Sally said when she saw Lestrade, getting up from her seat and pushing it towards him. Dimmock, who was to her left, tried to object, saying Lestrade was taking over for him and not her, but she waved him off. Neither did she turn towards the line of men (and a few women) in front of her when loud groans were heard from the crowd; its members quickly dispersing when it became apparent that Lestrade was taking over.

"I was due to take lunch thirty minutes ago but Maggie's running late so I had to cover for her." She grabbed her coat and her purse before quickly running over the specifics for Lestrade's sake.

"It's one quid a kiss. Money goes into the jar first. Make sure they take a breath-mint if you know what's good for you and kisses that last longer than a smooch cost extra. If there's tongue, that's extra too." Sally pointedly ignored Lestrade's horrified look at the prospect of there being _tongue _involved. She made sure she had all her essentials before pushing Lestrade onto the chair she had vacated.

"If anyone tries to skimp out on paying, kindly remind them that we are the Met, we have tasers, and we're not afraid to use them." With a twirl of her coat that Lestrade was sure Donovan picked up from a certain consulting detective, she purposely strode away towards what Greg assumed was the haunted house.

Lestrade turned to Dimmock to offer an apology on behalf of Donovan, but it became readily apparent that one wasn't needed. Not when the other man was busily and enthusiastically locking lips with a pretty girl Lestrade had seen a few times visiting their department. Girlfriend, his memory helpfully provided. Well, that is definitely longer than a smooch, and there is _most definitely_ tongue involved, so that should be worth at least a few extra pounds.

Putting on a brave face, Lestrade put his arms on the table and turned to the front of the booth, expecting to see either a few strangers lining up in front of him or no one at all. He was instead staring at the midsection of a man wearing a grey coloured three-piece suit ensemble. Tilting his head upwards to get a decent look at the man, Lestrade was greeted with the familiar face of the elder Holmes brother.

"Detective Inspector." The taller man said with a slight smile.

"Mr. Holmes." Lestrade stood up to shake the man's hand, slightly surprised to see someone of Mycroft Holmes's status at their fair. "What brings you here? Is Sherlock alright?" He added, since that was the only explanation he could come up with as to why this man was talking to him. Lestrade was poised and ready to jump into action if need be. And if he had to abandon his post for the sake of a good friend, well… the department couldn't really fault him for that.

"Please, call me Mycroft." The hand not holding the umbrella motioned for Lestrade to return to his seat. "And my brother is fine, thank you for asking. He is heading towards the horror house with Doctor Watson as we speak."

"Ah. Good to hear." Lestrade made a mental note not to bump into Anderson or Donovan for the rest of the weekend, certain that both of them would be in a foul mood until Monday. He was, however, slightly dismayed that he still had an hour and 56 minutes left for his shift with no chance of escape, leaving him no choice but to soldier on.

Lestrade's attention was drawn back to the other man when he noticed Mycroft hook his umbrella onto his other arm, taking a mint from the deep dish bowl to Greg's left. He watched as slender fingers carefully unwrapped the treat; to his ears, the sound of the plastic cover coming undone was crisp and distinct over the noise of the crowd and the park. Greg continued to watch as Mycroft brought the confection towards his mouth, popping the small red and white swirl in before his lips sealed shut as he sucked on the tiny treat.

Greg swallowed as he heard Mycroft give a soft hum before the taller man's jaw moved slightly, shifting the sweet around, and he couldn't help but imagine how the round object would feel against his own tongue and inner cheek. A series of resounding crunches were heard when Mycroft broke the mint into smaller pieces. _The flavour must be more pronounced now_, Lestrade's mind supplied, his own tongue pressing against the roof of his mouth as he visualized the burst of mint flavour against his own palate.

Mycroft's tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip when he finished. Greg was unable to do anything but stare transfixed at the tongue as it emerged then retreated, focusing on the glistening trail it left cooling in its wake.

"Shall we?" Mycroft calmly asked, bringing Lestrade's attention back to the matter at hand. Specifically, the one pound coin in Mycroft's hand.

"Oh. Um." Greg said softly, realizing that he'd failed to take this into account. He had been so caught up with worrying about kissing strangers that he didn't think about what he would do if he had to kiss someone he knew – or in this case, someone he was secretly harbouring a crush on. Add that to that the fact that he was about fifteen seconds away from kissing the man rumoured to _be_ the British Government and Lestrade was well on his way to having a mini-panic attack.

Mycroft, seemingly unaware of the internal meltdown Greg was experiencing, dropped the coin into the jar, adding to the small mound already there. The light touch of fingers against his chin caused Greg to tilt his head slightly back, giving him a brief moment to accept that _Oh God, this is actually happening _before Mycroft's mouth met his.

It was odd at first, just the barest of pressures, before Mycroft's mouth slowly parted. Greg felt the breath of the other man warming his lips as he closed his eyes, his focus now narrowed to that single point of contact between them as Mycroft began a tender suckling motion, lips opening and closing in a languid pace that had Lestrade slowly opening his own in response. He had just enough time to press a light, answering kiss back before it dawned on him what he was actually doing. He quickly shut his lips together in a tight line against Mycroft's advances, realizing if he responded, he would be compromising whatever professional working relationship he had with the man. Not to mention the fact that this was Mycroft Holmes, a powerful and influential player on the world stage, and _for fuck's sake,_ this was Sherlock Holmes' _brother_.

Greg thought he heard a soft sigh of disappointment from the other man but he wasn't able to put much thought to it when he felt a wet, slick tongue press against his bottom lip. Mycroft started to lick a damp trail, trying once again to invite Lestrade's mouth to open under his ministrations. Greg's hands gripped the table as a last effort to ground himself against the sensations, reminding himself just who exactly he was kissing and why it would be a **very bad idea** to get carried away.

It was only when Mycroft started introducing teeth, taking Lestrade's bottom lip in a particularly stern nip that demanded he be granted entrance, that the detective inspector finally acquiesced, no longer able to deny that he had wanted this for a while too.

Mycroft's hand moved to hold the back of Greg's head, tilting it slightly to allow him better access. He briefly pulled back, not far enough to truly end the kiss, as he rearranged their mouths, slotting them together at a more comfortable angle when he captured Greg's lips once again.

Greg shuddered as Mycroft slipped his tongue in, brushing and pressing insistently against Greg's as he tried to coerce a response from the Detective Inspector. A soft moan escaped Lestrade as he twirled his tongue over Mycroft's, tasting the mint that the taller man had ingested a few seconds (or was it minutes now) back. He tried to lap at it, pushing the taste of mint away in hopes of uncovering Mycroft's distinct flavour buried underneath; but it wasn't enough. He was hungry for the other man, feeling other parts of him stir slowly to life as his desire for Mycroft built with every stroke.

His hand moved to grasp Mycroft's nape to act as an anchor as he tugged the other man down closer to him, demanding more as he sought entrance into Mycroft's mouth. He licked his way in, brushing up against teeth and the inside of the man's cheeks in hopes of finding a spot not coated over by the mint. He was thorough in his search, insistent in the way his tongue moved methodically inside the man's mouth, finding the need to dig deeper, if not to find Mycroft's taste, then to leave his own as an indelible imprint on Mycroft's mouth.

He ignored the slight ache in his lungs that told him the kiss was going to end all too soon, not wanting to stop the only chance he'd have of being so intimate with Mycroft.

Mycroft, possibly sensing Gregory's budding discomfort, started to slowly pull back, intending to break the kiss. The firm hand on his nape tried to stop his retreat but Mycroft took it in his own, drawing a pattern of tender circles against Lestrade's wrist with his thumb before tugging himself free. The taller man's tongue licked at the corners of Greg's lips as he withdrew, apologetic that this had to stop, but the gleam in his blue eyes was thrilled at knowledge that Greg enjoyed it and the small smile on his lips was a silent promise of more to come. Greg licked his bottom lip, intending to hold Mycroft to that promise.

"Hey." Dimmock interjected, sharply breaking through Greg's post-kiss haze to cause both men to look at him. "It's more for 'added services'." The younger DI pointed to the sign with their rates, particularly the 'suggested' additional price for 'more than a smooch'.

Greg felt like he was just doused with ice cold water, the bulge between his thighs wilting away when he realized what he had just done. Sitting as far back as his chair would let him, he tried to will himself not to blush profusely at the thought that he had just **snogged** _Mycroft Holmes_, in public and in full view of his colleagues! He didn't seem to be succeeding.

"My apologies." Mycroft said, as calm as ever as he produced a chequebook and a pen from his suit jacket. He quickly filled out the blanks with the appropriate information and handed the cheque to Lestrade

"I hope this covers it."

Lestrade didn't know how many more surprises he could take for one day. The amount definitely had way too many zeroes to be correct. It was enough to cover for their department's contribution to the fair. And then some.

"This is…rather generous." Lestrade said slowly, ignoring how Dimmock's eyes threatened to pop out of their sockets when he caught sight of the figure.

"It is but a small donation." Mycroft said as he re-pocketed his belongings in a smooth practiced motion. He moved his umbrella back to his right hand and leaned casually on it as he watched Gregory flounder for the best way to return the cheque without offending him.

"However," The taller man continued as he dispelled any objections by plucking the cheque from Lestrade's fingers and slipping it into the jar. "If you feel that such an amount is, perhaps, unwarranted of the services you have rendered, then I would not be adverse to your company for the duration of your time commitment at this…" Mycroft swept his umbrella as he gestured at the kissing booth, trying to find the best word for it. "Establishment."

God, Lestrade thought as he processed what was happening, this really did make it sound like he was prostituting himself.

Greg stared up at Mycroft to see if the man was serious; the sleek raised brow silently reminded Lestrade that Mycroft was always serious. At least, Greg reasoned, he wouldn't have to spend the weekend kissing strangers anymore. And, if he played his cards right, he might get another chance to lock lips with the taller man. Greg realized that he had been caught staring at Mycroft's lips when the corners gave a small quirk upwards. Maybe he'd get his chance much sooner than he thought.

Pushing the chair back as he stood, Greg gave Dimmock a firm pat on the shoulder, telling him to keep up the good work before he strode through the park grounds towards a sleek black car, Mycroft Holmes at his side.

All things considered, maybe the kissing booth wasn't such a bad idea after all.

-End-

I don't know what happens after. Maybe something, maybe nothing, maybe everything. x_x

Comments are love.

For more of my Sherlock BBC fics, please visit: rougewinter[.]livejournal[.]com.

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**Lady Wayne **has also translated this story into German. If you're interested in reading it, please visit: www[.]fanfiktion[.]de/s/4e4051ac0001ba9006713c6a


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